


Erised

by stabbyunicorn



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, Trans Female Character, Trans Girl Harry Potter, Transgender, Transitioning, Transphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-23
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2019-01-04 07:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12164061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stabbyunicorn/pseuds/stabbyunicorn
Summary: Harry sees herself in the mirror. | Trans Harry. One vignette per year. Diverges mildly from canon at first, majorly later.[⚠️] CW: transphobia, including internalized transphobia





	1. Erised

**Author's Note:**

> Our main character will not accept who she is right away. Her proper pronouns will be used regardless, but her own thoughts may not mirror who she is at first. I feel it important to note this, as sometimes, reading stories where characters internalize transphobia can be challenging. I myself am a trans woman, and I've suffered from my own unfair share of it. Remember: she will figure it out in the end, and she _will_ live happily ever after.

# Erised

She ran the first time she saw it. Bolted out of the room, heart pounding, breath ragged. She made it back to the common room, then the dorm, then the bed.

The next day her eyes were dry, her body tired, and she couldn’t think—not about anything, and certainly not about the mirror.

But that evening her feet moved unbidden, her cloak found its way around her, and she found herself there again, before the mirror, the mirror with the strange language inscribed upon it:

> Erised

In the mirror she saw someone she had never before seen, not in all the mirrors or reflections or photographs in the world. 

In the mirror, Harry Potter saw herself.

Banished memories longed to surface. What she saw was impossible. Unnatural. There were no mistakes in creation.

But the being in the mirror was someone Harry could never be. Harry was a survivor, nothing more. The person in the mirror was _alive_. Smiling. Happy.

Harry backed away. Looked away. Couldn’t look away.

It was a lie, Harry knew. In the mirror were her parents, yes. Her aunt and uncle, too, hands on the shoulders of Harry herself. But next to Harry herself, their presence was nearly believable.

Again she ran from the mirror. It did not do to dwell on lies.

She did not let the bitter scowl show upon her face as she climbed the boy’s stairs. She refused to shed a tear. Refused to scream into her pillow, even if it would not be heard over the snores of her dormmates.

Neville. Seamus. Dean. Ron.

All wrong, all—

No.

No.

She fell into her bed.

She did not visit the mirror again.


	2. Obliviate

# Obliviate

“… but I’ll have to put a Memory Charm on you now. Can’t have you blabbing my secrets all over the place. I’d never sell another book—“

Harry had reached her wand just in time. 

She could have been quicker. But for a moment, Harry had forgotten about Ginny and the Chamber. Myrtle and the bathroom. The Basilisk.

It wouldn’t have worked. Not the way Lockhart wanted to use it. He’d just remove the last few minutes, Harry was sure. Then again, perhaps Lockhart would’ve left her with no memories at all. Perhaps that would have been better…

Could a Memory Charm fix her? Could it make her forget herself?

Sure, she wouldn’t be Harry. But she’d be the Harry people would want her to be. The Harry people thought she was. The Harry she tried to be.

She shook her head. Turned her attention back to Hermione.

“All those times I could’ve died, and I didn’t manage it? They’ll be furious…”

Harry had trailed off. They’d be happy if she died, sure. But if magic had indeed managed to fix her, maybe that would’ve been enough. Perhaps her relatives would even think it good for something.

But Harry was still herself. Still the Harry she’d seen in the Mirror of Erised the year before.

She felt Hermione’s hand on her shoulder.

Together, two girls walked back through the gateway to the Muggle world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A previous version of this chapter had misgendered our main character once towards the end. I was swapping between my writing & _Chamber_ and accidentally let the wrong pronoun in.


	3. Mother's Eyes

# Mother’s Eyes

“An easy mistake to make,” said Dumbledore softly. “I expect you’ll tire of hearing it, but you do look _extraordinarily_ like James. Except for the eyes… you have your mother’s eyes.”

Harry looked away, but managed to cover it in a shake of her head.

James Potter. She had his face. His hair. His first name was her middle. He was who she ought to have been, she knew.

“It was stupid, thinking it was him,” she muttered. “I mean, I knew he was dead.”

Not for the first time did Harry wonder if that Halloween night had left her this way. If, had Voldemort not attacked, she’d be who she ought to have been. Had his _unnatural_ curse caused her to go mad?

“… Your father is alive in you, Harry,” Dumbledore continued. Always her father. “… and shows himself most plainly when you have need of him. How else could you produce that _particular_ Patronus? Prongs rode again last night.”

It took a moment for Harry to realize what Dumbledore had said.

Was it all in her head? Was she simply insane? Was she, in fact, her father’s…

A small laugh nearly escaped her lips. They said the definition of insanity was repeating your actions and expecting different results. And Harry had gone down this train of thought before.

No.

She was not insane.

Harry Potter was not her father.

“… so you did see your father last night, Harry… You found him inside yourself.”

And perhaps she had.

And Dumbledore left the office, and Harry was no longer confused.

She knew what she was, even if nobody else did, even if nobody else ever could.

Her father’s daughter.


	4. What They Call You

# What They Call You

“No,” she said. “I did not enter my name. And even if I had, ‘Harry Potter’ is not my name.”

She was very aware of everybody watching her closely. Snape made a soft noise of impatient disbelief in the shadows.

“Not your name, Harry?” asked Dumbledore.

She couldn’t meet his eyes. No one knew her name— except, somehow, for the Maurader’s Map. But if it would excuse her from the tournament in which people had died…

Snape interrupted. “Yes, Potter, please _do_ tell us of your latest attempt to be _different_.”

She swallowed. “Elizabeth Lily Potter,” she whispered.

The room blinked as one. Nobody knew quite what to say. For once, even Snape was rendered speechless.

Dumbledore looked at her as if wishing to dissect her.

“Regardless,” said Dumbledore, quietly—Liz thought his voice might have shaken slightly—“you cannot simply change your name, Harry.”

Liz wouldn’t have been able to make herself move had Voldemort himself entered the room.

“The _Goblet_ is a binding magical contract,” said Dumbledore. “The consequences for breaking it would be… severe.”

“But if it’s not my name, how am I breaking it?” said Liz heatedly.

“It’s the name they call you that matters, Potter,” growled a voice from near the door.

Moody had just entered the room. He limped toward the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud _clunk._

“I doubt very much we have any choice but to accept it,” said Dumbledore, “although if anyone has any ideas?”

Dumbledore waited, but nobody spoke. Madame Maxime merely glared. Snape looked furious; Kakaroff livid; Bagman, however, still looked rather excited, although he kept glancing at Liz with rather odd looks.

“Given all the excitement this evening, perhaps we should give our champions their instructions tomorrow,” said Dumbledore. “I believe Professor McGonnagal would like to escort young Harry to Madame Pomfrey.”

McGonnagal nodded.

* * *

Madame Pomfrey had examined Liz. She hadn’t found anything amiss.

McGonnagal had said little as she escorted Liz back to Gryffindor tower.

They hadn’t believed her. But even so, news had spread.

When Liz and Hermione arrived at Snape’s dungeon after lunch a few days later, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For a wild moment, Liz thought they were S.P.E.W. badges—then she saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

> SUPPORT **CEDRIC DIGGORY** —THE **REAL** HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

Malfoy had pressed the badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced with another one, which glowed green:

> POTTER’S A NANCY-BOY

It didn’t matter what they said, she told herself.

She was Elizabeth Lily Potter, even if she did not yell it from the rooftops, even if she slept in the boys’ dorm, even if she did not present herself as such. Even the Map had agreed; hadn’t Lupin said it never lies?

But even if it did lie, Liz knew who she was.


	5. Mark Him As His Equal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes a _lot_ of dialogue from the sixth book (even though this scene takes place at the end of the events in _The Order of the Phoenix_ )

# Mark Him As His Equal

“It meant,” said Dumbledore, “that the person who has the only chance of conquering Lord Voldemort for good was born at the end of July, nearly sixteen years ago. This boy would be born to parents who had already defied Voldemort three times.”

Liz felt as though something was closing in upon her. Her breathing seemed difficult again. Except—

“But it couldn’t be me.”

“I am afraid,” said Dumbledore slowly, looking as though every word cost him a great deal of effort, “that there is no doubt that it _is_ you.”

“But it said ‘he.’ ‘Mark him as his equal,’ it said,” said Liz. “I’m, I’m not—“

Dumbledore sighed heavily, his eyes again returning to the pensive. “Regardless of whether you think yourself to be a boy—“

“I’m not,” said Liz. “I’m really not.”

“And what difference does it make?”

It made a lot of difference to Liz. She had half a mind to say so, but Dumbledore continued.

“You are setting too much store by the words of the prophecy!” said Dumbledore, sounding impatient now. “Regardless of what _you_ believe your gender to be, Voldemort thinks the prophecy refers to you. If Voldemort had never heard the prophecy, would it have been fulfilled? Would it have meant anything? Of course not! Do you think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled?”

Liz wasn’t sure what to think. “This prophecy makes it sound like one of us will have to kill the other—“

“Do you think Voldemort will ever stop chasing you, Harry? And you— had he not killed your father, your mother… Don’t you see? Voldemort himself created his worst enemy, just as tyrants everywhere do!”

“But sir,” said Liz, making valiant efforts not to sound argumentative, “it all comes to the same thing, doesn’t it? According to you, I’ve got to try to kill him, or—“

“Got to?” said Dumbledore. “Of course you’ve got to! But not because of the prophecy! Because you, yourself, will never rest until you’ve tried! Think, Harry!”

Dumbledore had stood. Liz watched as he strode up and down in front of her, and thought. She thought of her mother, her father. Of Cedric Diggory. Of all the terrible deeds she knew Lord Voldemort had done. A flame seemed to leap in her chest, searing to her throat.

“I do want him finished,” said Liz quietly. “And I want to do it.”

“Of course you would, Harry! You see—“

“Stop calling me Harry,” Liz snapped.

Dumbledore stopped his pacing. Liz had the sense he was going to say more, and was rather mildly put out that she had interrupted him. 

He peered at her over his glasses. _Now_ he was comfortable looking at her? After all year, after she had _needed_ him?

He broke his gaze away, and peered out the window into the dawn.

“You must understand, Harry, that it is difficult for us… For me, for your friends,” said Dumbledore.

Liz did her best not to scoff. As if it weren’t difficult—hadn’t been difficult—for Liz herself.

It was not a statement that invited a response.

Liz tried to calm her irritation. The office was already a mess of broken silver instruments. She didn’t have it in her to wreck it more.

“Regardless of what _you_ believe my gender to be, I know that it is and has always been the same. You can’t— you don’t know how I feel, and I’m not asking you to. I am not a boy. My name is not— My name is ‘Elizabeth.’ I’m asking you to use it.”

Dumbledore sighed heavily once again. His untwinkling eyes glanced away. Liz thought he might be remembering something… His gaze returned to hers.

“Very well, Elizabeth,” he said.

Liz hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. She hadn’t thought the headmaster would agree.

“You can call me Liz, if you’d like.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "You must understand... it is difficult for me..."
> 
> I'm sure nearly every trans person has heard this many times. It is very frustrating. It is not apparent why it should be difficult for anyone else. Why do they set so much store by the gender they think you as? 
> 
> But it also hurts. If it came across as a plea for understanding, it would be only hurtful, as it ignores the trans person's own struggle, with themselves and with others, in favor of the cis person's. Yet it comes across worse still: "It's difficult for me, so deal with it," is what I've always heard. It has always felt like an attempt to lay blame at my feet for my own transness.
> 
> It is not a statement that engenders conversation.


	6. Chosen Girl

# Chosen Girl

Liz wished Scrimgeour hadn’t mentioned Umbridge. It would have been easier to feign ignorance of her continued occupation at the Ministry. Still…

“You’d like people to think I’m working for the Ministry?” she asked. “Me? I mean, I’m nothing, nothing special, Minister.”

It had come to a mental flip of a coin. Truth, or feigned ignorance. Feigned ignorance had won.

Scrimgeour smiled. Liz thought she may have made the right choice.

“Yes, you,” he said. “And you are indeed special. You’re special to us all, Harry.”

Liz’s cheek did not twitch.

“But… I’m not sure…”

Scrimgeour frowned, and edged slightly closer. “The Ministry is powerful, Harry. There must be things you need. Even Dumbledore…”

“But… well, my past with the Ministry…”

“Water under the bridge, Harry,” said Scrimgeour.

Liz wanted to scowl, but only allowed anxiousness to grace her face.

“I mean, how do I know… is the Ministry really different? If you still have Umbridge, how different can it be, I mean… she made me… she made me write lines, and the ink, it was my blood, and the scars…”

She rubbed her hand, and was pleased when the Minister glanced down at it. “And then there’s my Godfather, sent to Azkaban without so much as a trial, and when we figured out he was innocent the Minister refused to listen, and then same thing with Hagrid in second year, and now I see Stan Shunpike’s been arrested and I don’t know how to know if he’s actually guilty or just more of the same and, and, when _he_ returned, and the Minister didn’t believe me, the things he said about me—“

Scrimgeour held up a hand.

“Please,” he said. “Please, slow down. This is all… this is all very concerning, of course…”

“It’s just, how can I… how can I know if the Ministry is something I can trust? After… I mean…”

Scrimgeour nodded slowly. “I understand.”

“You… You do, Minister?” Liz asked, looking up at him, trying to make her body small.

“I do. Look,” he said, glancing towards the Burrow, “Harry. A lot of what you said is very concerning, of course. I know this must be difficult…”

It was harder than Liz expected, keeping her face properly distressed as the Minister spoke. 

“You know some of my Aurors, do you not? Miss Nymphadora Tonks, perhaps? If you speak with her about your concerns, I’m sure we can get to the bottom of them. You have my word, Harry.”

The word of a politician. Wonderful.

Liz tried to try to nod. Tried to put a bit of hope into her eyes. And then, a dash more worry…

“But then… there’s me, personally… and I don’t know how the Ministry will react, I mean, I know it’s not normal, but…”

Scrimgeour frowned. “This… this gender stuff…”

“I just want to be me. I’d be ever so much more comfortable, if I could just… But the things the _Prophet_ will print… Minister…”

She looked up at him, again. Shoulders hunched. Knees slightly buckled.

Then away. At the ground. Still small. The garden gnome had gone.

“I guess not even you can help me,” she said, quietly.

Scrimgeour growled slightly. “Let’s not be too sure,” he said. “I am not completely powerless, and I do have friends at the _Prophet,_ Harry. We can at least try.”

Liz avoided rolling her eyes. She knew full well the Minister’s power. And as for the _Prophet…_ After last year, it was clear the Minister didn’t have ‘friends’ there. He could dictate articles to them outright, if he wished.

But Scrimgeour was playing a game, and to be fair, so was Liz. Scrimgeour just didn’t realize she was playing, too.

She’d get what she needed. Scrimgeour would gladly breakdance on the Weasley’s dinner table if it were necessary to get Liz’s support, and Liz knew it.

“You will talk to Nymphadora, then, Harry?”

Liz looked up at Scrimgeour again. She hoped her face showed an awed gratitude.

“Yes Minister! If you think it’ll help!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some minor changes due to the events in this chapter... but mostly, it makes it easier for Liz to be the 'Girl Who Won' later.
> 
> I was originally planning more, but the 'more' wouldn't have fit. Liz manipulating Scrimgeour I can buy well enough. Liz has had to hide who she is from many people, herself included, for a long time. Manipulating the Minister shouldn't be too hard.
> 
> Liz getting him to weed out many of the problematic aspects of the Ministry, and getting mandatory Imperius training for department heads? That.... was a stretch. A bit too perfect. 
> 
> I could perhaps have managed to do it realistically, and it would have been worthwhile, if only I were writing the seventh part long form. 
> 
> So much of the seventh book is based on complete luck. Had the Ministry not fallen so quickly, things would have been much more difficult for the trio. This could have been very interesting.
> 
> For one, they might not have ended up at Malfoy Manor. Or even living in a tent at all. And if they didn't go to the Malfoys', how would they have figured out the cup might be in Bellatrix's vault?
> 
> They'd have gotten the sword easily. It's at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts ought to have been safe enough if the Ministry hadn't fallen.
> 
> The locket they'd have found easily. Perhaps they'd have used the student rolls at Hogwarts. They'd have to convince McGonnagal to let them. That would've been fun to write! They'd need to tell her enough to convince her, but not reveal Horcruxes.
> 
> But what next? Liz might have had a hunch there was something at Hogwarts. Maybe she'd even find it.
> 
> The cup, though? How would they ever realize it was at Gringotts? 
> 
> No. They'd get desperate. Perhaps they'd have to start hunting Death Eaters to interrogate. But, it wouldn't be as if they could leave the Death Eaters alive. When the Ministry finally _did_ fall, maybe they'd use the Taboo purposefully: summon Voldemort's forces; interrogate them; kill them. While I love stories that dip into darkness in this way, I did not feel it matched this story.
> 
> And, with the seventh part short form as well, I wouldn't really be able to explain all this, even if I split out a separate epilogue from the seventh part.
> 
> So, I decided to change less.
> 
> That flip of the coin? Had Liz not feigned ignorance, she'd have demanded the Ministry do more. Do well. And everything would have changed.
> 
> Maybe I'll write that story someday. Should you find it interesting, you may of course write it yourself.


	7. Alive

# Alive

“The Girl Who Won,” screamed the Prophet.

Hermione still didn’t quite understand. But she tried. She would tell Liz how girls didn’t do this or that. She stopped after, having had enough one evening, Liz snapped. “Well, clearly they do, Hermione, because I just did.”

Liz thought Hermione might have understood better, after that.

She tried to help Liz with spells and charms and potions to help with her appearance, and had tried to rope in a couple of Hufflepuffs to help; who knew Justin and Hannah were so into fashion? But girl or no, fashion wasn’t really Liz’s cup of tea.

In the end, the muggle methods had ended up most successful. Hermione had done the research, and with a couple surreptitious waves of her wand—Liz’s eyebrow had raised at the rulebreaking—Liz found herself with a ready supply of the medicines she would need.

Ron, surprisingly, hadn’t struggled with the concept. It seemed that, after his abandonment of her during the start of the tournament, and again during the hunt for the Horcruxes, he was determined not to fail a third time. He did his best to be respectful. Or, at least, respectful for Ron, which was enough for Liz.

Ginny… well, she didn’t particularly want to date a girl. Which was fine with Liz, as she wasn’t sure if she was the same person she had been when she had dated Ginny in sixth year.

Some grew distant. Neville. Hagrid, too, for a few months, but he had come around, eventually.

And then there was Luna. Liz had assumed… But for all of the odd things Luna accepted, she seemed to draw the line at Liz’s gender. Liz supposed Luna had always been firm in her convictions. But she had assumed Luna would have been still more firm in her friendships.

It had been easier for those who had not known Liz. Sure, they had wanted to call her ‘Boy-Who-Lived,’ but they found ‘Girl-Who-Lived’ rolled off the tongue nearly as easily. Some did whisper, wondering whether Voldemort’s curse had left her addled, but they figured if she beat him, perhaps her being addled wasn’t so bad.

Liz did not expect she’d ever meet someone special. She’d have liked to have a family. Children. Love. It was, she supposed, rather disgustingly normal, but normal was all she had ever wanted to be—only, ‘normal’ for her didn’t match ‘normal’ for everyone else.

And then Luna had come back. She’d been traveling with Rolf Scamander. She had thought she’d ought to like him. They had almost married. Luna had been firm in the belief that, were she to like anyone in that way, it would be Rolf.

But she didn’t like him that way.

And no sooner had she realized why than she sent Liz a letter.

> Dear Elizabeth Lily Potter,
> 
> I hope you do not feel obligated to read this, Elizabeth. I think, if it were me, I might not want to read this letter, but then, you aren’t me.
> 
> What I said to you was rather horrible. I feel very sad about it. I believe the Ravenclaw knocker—it looked rather like an Eagle, if you remember, Elizabeth?—once had a riddle about words, and how they cannot be taken back, but if I could, I would.
> 
> Would you like to have tea? It’s a nice night for it, I think. The Gulping Plimpys are croaking quite beautifully tonight. They’ll be at it a few more hours, I suspect.
> 
> It’s quite alright if you’d rather not.
> 
> I hope you are well,
> 
> Luna

Luna, it seemed, still lived in the rook-shaped house. 

Liz apparated over, unsure what to expect, not that one could expect anything in particular with Luna. 

Short notice or not, it wasn’t as if Liz had anything better to do. She had decided not to pursue being an Auror. She’d have been interested in teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, but McGonnagal had seemed reluctant to hire her.

Liz did not exactly forgive Luna _quickly_. But she met Luna again a few nights later. And again a few nights after that.

It took a few years. Luna dragged Liz on adventure after adventure. She and Liz discovered new creatures and learned new magics, and with Luna, Liz again and again found herself in the same state of awe and wonder in which she had been rendered when she had first entered the wizarding world at the age of eleven. 

And one night, after having just managed to portkey away from some rather vicious creatures somewhere in Australia, they found the moonlight just right, and the croaks of the Gulping Plimpies just melodious enough, and their lips just touched…

Luna, it turned out, liked girls. And so did Liz. And, Luna had realized, if _she_ was a girl who liked girls, what was so hard to understand about Liz being a girl who liked girls, too?

Together, they explored magic, the world, and each other.

“I ought to have known,” Luna said one night. Liz made to shush her, but Luna continued undeterred. “Anyone ought to have. You weren’t really living, then, were you? Your smiles weren’t ever quite right, Elizabeth, you know.”

Liz had responded: “But I survived.” That had proved a bit too much on the nose even for Luna, even if she was the one who had started it. She’d rolled her eyes and shoved Liz, then giggled guiltily when Liz tumbled off the bed.

“Oh do get off the floor,” said Luna. “Even if you are rather a sappy idiot, Elizabeth. You’d be much better being sappy up here, you know.”

It took her a moment to move, as she thought back to when she had first realized it herself, in front of the Mirror of Erised, back in her first year.

Were she to gaze into it now, she was sure, she’d still not see herself as she was. There were no perfect lives; no perfect contentment.

What if Liz had realized earlier? What if the wizarding world had been more accepting from the start? What if Liz had been more… What if Luna hadn’t… What if…

Liz’s parents would still be standing there beside her. Perhaps not the Dursleys, anymore.

But at the front, she knew—as sentimental as it might seem—she would be standing, Luna at her side.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harry/Luna is one of my favorite pairings, so Liz/Luna felt pretty right.
> 
> My favorite is Hermione/Luna. There's not enough Hermione/Luna. But imagine: They'd be playfully exasperated with each other, but that would just be for show; surface level; a dressing atop their relationship. Not everyone would realize this. They'd say something to Hermione about Luna, or to Luna about Hermione. Big mistake. Because they love each other. They respect each other. Luna likes to show Hermione the world, to push her a bit out of her comfort zone. Hermione likes that Luna pushes, and loves that Luna will never push too much. She may not always believe Luna's creatures exist—and, even when she does, she still sometimes pretends she doesn't, because Luna likes to argue with her—but she always helps Luna research.
> 
> If I could think of a proper plot—or a proper un-plot—I might try to write it. Perhaps it would work well as a series of vignettes, much like this story? I do like series of vignettes.
> 
> Ah... *sigh.*
> 
> But Harry/Luna is good too. And Liz/Luna is better still, because I'm a girl into girls, and Liz & Luna are each girls into girls.


End file.
